


Picture Wall

by Iximagination



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iximagination/pseuds/Iximagination
Summary: Ever since Harry was younger there was a picture wall in his town near the Swan Hotel. People that lived there or just passing byers would put a picture on there and usually a note or signature. Harry left his town 8 years ago but upon his arrival back he goes and visits and he sees a blue eyed man on there, that catches his eye.Somewhat inspired by James Corden's lls picture wall :) I'm bad at descriptions please bare with me:)!UPDATES WILL BE SLOW!Can also be found on wattpad @ Iximagination
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Picture Wall

Growing up in a small town in the middle of nowhere had its pros, you knew everyone, and everyone knew you, you couldn't get lost, and it was safe. Always safe. Harry Styles grew up in a town like this. Just him, his mum, and his sister. 

Of course, you would get people that weren't from there in the town, but they were usually pass-byers, they never stayed long - or not at all. But when they did, they were the polite and mainly older folk. No one really came here.

Bibury, England. Not a place many have heard off, but when you do you can't stop thinking about it, the place looking just like you have taken it from a story book, the houses so beautifully crafted, the grass never anything but the brightest of greens. It was magical no one could argue it, it was the most well known fact. 

The place every tourist went to see upon visiting the village was the picture wall. Built near the swan hotel, it was the best part of the visit. Everyone that had ever lived or visited put a picture on the wall, sometimes signed, sometimes with notes, or just sometimes blank. Growing up Harry Styles' favourite time of every year was to put a new picture up on his birthday, always signing and dating it, with a big goofy smile. The hotel owners always nodded at him and offered him in for a cup of hot chocolate. That's the thing, everyone was nice in the village, easy to get along with, and they were safe. 

Harry loved to live there, until his sister Gemma left, she moved further down south to go to a college and university where it wasn't as closed, where she could meet more people. Unlike Harry she hated the small, quiet living space. It was worse with Gemma gone, it was like Bibury had lost a piece of it, but nevertheless it had it glow. 

Shortly after Gemma left, Anne fell ill, terminally. There was nothing the village could do, they had to abandon their home, Harry and Anne together. They moved to Cheshire, a bigger town, somewhere with a large enough hospital to treat her, Harry lived in fear from the age of sixteen, wondering which day would be his mother’s last. She soldiered on laughing and joking with her son, not wanting to scare him, Gemma moved back during her last two years. Feeling guiltier by the day for not being there.   
The day came, eight long years after the first diagnosis, Harry had woken up to his poor mothers coughing and weakening cries for help. It was inevitable, she had waited eight long, suffering years for this moment, her last words were encouragements, wishes and promises. She died in her sons and daughter's arms, at peace with the world. 

Harry promised himself not to cry on the two and a half hour drive back to his childhood home, his mother’s funeral would be there in a few days, just where she wanted it. 'The peace, the quiet, the most elegant of places, it is where I shall be put to rest darling, I will not settle for anywhere but home.' She had claimed a few months prior, if that is what she wished, that is what she will get. Harry also had to go back for the house. Being twenty four, he was a legal adult and therefore his mother had left the house in his name, for him to deal with. He knew - and so did Anne - if left in possession of Gemma it would have been sold in an instant, but like herself, Harry loved Bibury and the village as much as Anne, especially the photo wall.

Another request.

To put the photo of Anne on the wall, her birth year to the year she died, and a quote. That can be done easily. He knew how much Anne loved that picture wall. The motorway begins to slowly come to an end as he turns off onto a dirt road the car bustling about over small rocks. He shakes his head, he has no idea if he is going to sell the house or not, whether this will be one of the last times he comes down the dirt road or not. 

He drives up to the Swan Hotel, and sits in the car for a while contemplating, the picture of his mother sat on the seat next to him. Once he puts this picture up that is it. She is gone. After the funeral he thinks to himself. After the funeral I will put this picture up with another of me. He squeezes his eyes tight, making the fuzzy sensation he has learned to love recently. His head thumps back against the rest as he slumps in his seat. Casting an eye over to the wall. Hundreds of photos have been added, he can only spot a few of his own, the rest hidden by the others. One however looks so new, so perfect. He squints for once willing the fuzzy to go away, so he can get a better look. The date is scrawled somewhat messily in the white box of the polaroid, the date is from a day ago. Interesting, Harry thinks to himself. He looks up to take the rest of it in.

That's when he realised...

This man has the most stunning blue eyes he has seen. The clearness of them can be seen from such a distance, it is like they were shining out of the picture. Staring into Harry, piercing his skin and filling up all of the cracks within. No, he shakes his head and groans. He can not be distracted by it. He starts the car and carries on to his old house, to his home. He stares up at the tiny house, he never realised how small it was. Because crap - it was small. The engine shuts off and there is just silence in the car. Harry has no idea what he is waiting for, he knows he has to go in, he knows he has to uncover everything that will cause him pain. He knows it so what is he waiting for.

With a long drawn out sigh he opens the door and untangles his limbs. Joints popping and cracking after being in one position for so long. He makes a quick and simple decision to leave his bags in the car. The keys feel like a dead weight in his hands. The last time these were used, they were from his mum, she locked up the house whilst he sat in the car. He had offered but she had insisted that it had to be here. He sighs again and pushes the key into the lock, clicking loudly as it unlocks. He has to put some weight on the door as a few letters had been stranded underneath from when they forgot to tell people their new address.   
He picks up a handful and throws them onto the counter next to the door, dust flying everywhere. The whole place smells musty. The darkness of the room from the blinds not being open. The dust is in fat layers on top of the sheets that lay on the furniture. 

"Fuck this shit." he mumbles to himself lowly, as he strides into the living room pulling the curtains back and opening the four windows, letting the air circulate through. 

The dust clogs the new air as the curtains release it all. He told his mum every year he should come back and dust, to keep it nice. But every year she gave a panicked no. So, for eight years the house had gone undisturbed, no one to clean it. The counter tops in the kitchen are disgusting, Harry wrinkles his nose a bit, he knows it'll take many bottles of bleach to get it back to his standard, again he opens the blind and the window, letting more of the fresh village air circulate throughout the house. He continues the ritual in every room, throw back the curtains, open the window, don't breathe in too much. He keeps the words running through his head. For once there is something he can do that he is in control of. 

Once done he sets to pulling back the sheets. With more light in the house, he can clearly see the grey and yellow that has started to build up. Great, he thinks to himself. He shouldn't have listened to his mum, he knew it was a bad idea to not come back at least once a year. Most of the furniture has been preserved in its state, the sheets doing their job of stopping anything from happening. A gust of wind from outside sends the sheets in a small flurry though and it ends up spreading more of the built up crap around the room.

Harry stands there and pulls his hair. He has a few hours to get ready before the funeral and the house not cooperating with him is the last thing that he needs. He knows Gemma will be here soon too, and if she saw their - now Harry's - house like this she would convince him to sell it in an instant. He needs to clean it before she gets here and standing around like an oaf won't do it. He sighs again and scrubs his face before closing the windows until they sit on the latch. He sets back to work peeling the sheets off carefully, not wanting to create more of a mess. He makes it another ritual, another controlled situation. Doing it in every room, just the same. He is beginning to like this, it provides comfort, and happiness, seeing his home coming alive again with each sheet gone. 

In just over a few hours, he has managed to remove the dust off the surfaces in the living room and bedrooms. The kitchen will be the hardest so he will leave that until tomorrow, hopefully Gemma won't stop to see it. He remembers the bundles of letters he picked up on the way in and goes to the counter to sift through them. Most are bills that they paid off years ago. A few leaflets about the hotel that were no doubt sent by accident. Everyone knew in the village that they had left. One however is addressed to him. He knows the handwriting to be his mothers. And that's when he feels his heart stop for a few moments. She'd left something for him, no wonder she wanted to close up. His chest tightens at the thought that his mother had written this, she knew she was going to die.

He almost doesn't want to open it. Wants to preserve the words his mum had written so many years ago. These are her last words to him, and he has no idea whether to open them or not. A glance of his watch tells him Gemma won't be here for at least another hour. Unlike the picture, he feels like he can't put this off. He doesn't want to. He wants to know his mum's words before he has to face anyone. His hands shake as he opens the envelope - careful enough that he won't rip it - and unfolds the letter.

Feb 19th 2010

_Harry,_

_I don't know exactly when you are reading this, but I hope it finds you well my dear. The village hospital predicted my death to happen 3 years from now...baby you'll have been 19 by then. Much too young to lose me. I hope they are wrong and you've spent much more time with me. This house has meant so much to me. I moved here when I was 19 years old, it was like my heart knew that this would be the place for me, for us. I left the house in your possession instead of Gemma's because I know that as soon as I am gone that she would sell it, not wanting to be here because it would hurt her. You however, from a very young age I can see the sparkle in your eyes._

_My darling boy, I want you to know that I love you, so very much and I will be there for you whenever you need. Just because I am physically gone does not mean I am not there with you every step of your way. I know you won't have cried much, because you'll want to seem strong, you always wanted to when you were younger - until you realised that you really needed to cry. Darling let it out. Cry all you want. Just don't cry longer than 2 weeks after the funeral. Yes, I'm setting you a date, because I know you need one. Cry all you want until that 2 week mark hits._

_Venture the world more Harry, too, I know I'm not here to give you full advice, I know that . But I am still watching you. You're quiet I get it, but please, don't spend your life mourning me. Get a boyfriend...yes Harry, you haven't "come out" to me yet but I can see it in your eyes, you don't want a girlfriend, you want a boyfriend. I am happy for you, so happy and so proud my love._

_I know this is hard for you, cleaning up the house, seeing my things, seeing the village again in general. And I know things will get harder for you along the way. That's why if you go in your room under the loose floorboard – yes, I know about that - you will see more letters like these. But they will stop darling, so don't get too attached. I will be looking down on you, watching you even when you think I'm not. I am._

_I love you Harry Edward Styles. Make me proud dear, because I know that you can._

_Love, Mum xx_

His heart clenches, and tears roll slowly down his cheeks. The lump in his throat sticks, no matter how many times he swallows. The words of his mother clutched in his hands. He has no idea what to do. Crumple on the floor and lose it or go and find the other letters. How his mother knew so much about him that he never told, he has no idea. He feels some sort of pride though, that she knew he was gay, and she was proud two years before he even came out to her. He smiles a little at the memory. It's one he will never forget. 

He sits on the floor rereading the words until he can recite it from memory. There's a sharp knock on the door behind him, it's Gemma he knows it is because she always has a curt knock. Harry hastily wipes away the tears before turning round to open the door, revealing his beautifully dressed sister. He gives her a tight smile and lets her in. She glances round the hallway peeping into the living room, judgment etched on her face. 

"Harry, have you been crying? You're not even ready yet, you need to get cleaned up and ready it starts soon." she says turning to face him. Of course, that is the first thing she says to him. 

He hasn't seen her since the night after his mum's death when she claimed she had to go back to her house and she would see him in a few days for a funeral, not once did she reach out to him. He can see it on her face though, he has been able to for years. The anger and blame. She blames him for why she died, if only they hadn't argued and they had left the village with Gemma some time ago they might have caught the cancer sooner, then she wouldn't have died.   
He knows. He blames himself too.

"Gemma, I know, I've just been cleaning. All my stuff is in the car, I'll go get it now just sit down please and don't move, I haven't had long." he mumbles hanging his head. She gives a short hum in response, he gets it, he does. But he wishes that he didn't. 

He walks out to the car grabbing the bag with his suit - that matches Gemma's dress - and the small toiletries bag, before he returns, back inside watching Gemma wrinkling her nose and reopening the windows wide. He doesn't have the heart to tell her why they were closed in the first place. He takes the shortest amount of time to get ready, not moving too much in fright that he might unsettle the dirt he hasn't fully gotten. It's going to take weeks he knows it. Today is just the beginning. 

A shriek followed by the calling of his name tells Harry, Gemma has found the kitchen. He sighs again, he's already done it so much today he is almost fed up with the noise that escapes his lips. He trudges back down the stairs and towards the kitchen where his sister stands. Surprise, surprise. 

"Before you say some shit Gemma, I've been here four hours, and in four hours I've managed to remove eight years’ worth of dust from the living room, the bathroom and two bedrooms, so forgive me for not giving a crap about the kitchen." he says in a huff, he watches his sister’s expression change a few times before she nods and pushes past him into the living room.

"Well, we have to go now Harry and by judging by the fact you haven't unpacked from your car, you're coming in mine, so lock up I'll be waiting." she walks out the house leaving him standing there shaking his head. He knows she is just grieving but he can't stop the small throb in his chest at the cruelness. 

~

The funeral goes as smoothly as it can. A few of Anne's friends from Cheshire attend, and a few stranded family. It’s mainly people from the village though that has watched Anne strive for a long time, Gemma and Harry were sat at the front, Harry hanging his head tears dribbling down his face and Gemma sat straight dabbing at her cheeks every so often. They decided against an after 'party' knowing how Anne thought about them.

"Funerals are more for the living than the dead in my opinion, they're to help people with grief, it isn't a send off. That is why my dear I will not have an afterparty, send up a balloon if you will but none of that nonsense."

Harry knows Gemma tried to convince her, and if it wasn't for him, she would have gotten her own way. But the balloon, that is one thing he will do. Write a message, put it in the balloon, fill it with helium, send it up into the clouds. Organisation as usual. He looks at Gemma as she drops him off back at the house, he wants to invite her in, but he already knows the answer. He wants his Gemma back though. She was never like this when Harry was younger, they were sibling goals right up until Harry was fourteen and he was figuring out himself. He never wanted girl advice, he'd rather hang with Gemma and her boyfriend instead of going out, he'd much rather sit and read than play football. It frustrated her as much as it frustrated him, he knows, but he couldn't help it. 

"Thank you Gems, for coming down, I know it would have been easier in Cheshire, but she really loved this place, I wanted her to be comfortable you know." he mumbles searching his sister's face for anything.

"I know Harry, I just hope you see that this place isn't that good, you'll work it out soon you're old enough. I'll come back next week see how you're doing, think about selling okay? It’s too much for me to drive nearly two and a half hours to see you when you could move and it'd be ten minutes." she replies, staring at the house ignoring most of Harry's sentence.

"I'm not selling, I don't care, it's mine and mums’ home. I was going to offer you in, but I already know the answer. Call me if you need me Gemma, but I'm sure you and your fancy friends in Cheshire won't." he gets out the car and slams the door.

It's wrong to say it, but he had to, it's how its been for years and quite frankly he is sick of it, it's their mothers funeral for once she could show some emotion to him instead of being cold. He unlocks the door and races in hearing tires squeals fading away in the distance. His first instinct is to cry, but there is so much he has to do before he can do that. His mind almost automatically goes to his mum’s letters.

He climbs the stairs and enters his old room, the same creaks prominent in the floorboards, the same loose one in is covered underneath his bed. His hands grapple at the board lifting it up slightly and feeling for the letters. There's a wad of them tied with what he thinks is a ribbon. He pulls them out and like the rest of the house it has eight years worth of crap on it. The first one in the pile is titled 'After my funeral' tears already fill again threatening to spill. He shakes his head.   
The small envelope fells heavy in his hand, this is real. This is it. His precious mum is gone, it is all hitting him like a freight train. What he would do to spend another day with his mum again. He is glad that Anne was smart enough to do this for him, smart enough to at least help him a little. The envelope just seems to get heavier as he opens is carefully.

_Harry,_

_This time I know exactly where you are reading this, because I know my funeral is done, the time is up and you are confused and hurt, not knowing what to feel. Darling that is just fine. I'm here watching over you. Thank you for not giving me the after party, I know you haven't because you always keep your promises to me, no matter how much Gemma will try turn your head. Be patient with her love, she is hurting too._

_Please Harry, love, no matter how hard it is stay strong, I know everything becomes surreal after funerals, but you have to carry on. Life doesn't stop. Remember that. And please my dear, do what I asked, I know you don't want to but you have to._

_Now chin up my dear, I'm watching over you, always and forever._

_Love, Mum xx_

The tears once more are welling up, he would have expected that he would be dry by now but clearly not. It's such bullshit, but it is what it is. The thought of the picture fills his head. He has to do it, he can't put it off any longer. Harry walks out to his car and unlocks it, climbing in and finding the photo of Anne. He traces over her features carefully, the sad, tired smile etched on her face, preserved with a click of a button. He clambers out of the car, he could do with a good walk, and the wall isn't too far away. The wind sways a little, the first signs of spring starting to show. A few of the villagers’ nod to Harry smiling as he passes, he gathers just enough strength to nod back at them. He approaches the wall slowly, sighing. 

Harry lifts the cover of the wall, it was put in place a few years before he left, to stop the photos getting damaged by the rain. A polaroid camera and a pen are new though. They weren't there before. He puts it up slowly, pinning it next to an older picture of him, he'll put a new one up tomorrow - maybe, if he feels up to smiling. He lowers the case, and that's when he gets another glance at the blue eyed boy, well man. His hair in a messy fringe that looks good, his eyes shining like nothing else. He looks cute. Really cute. He turns round, he has to go home, he can't stand and stare at a picture all day. Except when he turns around he seems to be still staring at the blue eyed man.

Except this time, he is moving, and coming straight towards Harry. He stands there in shock, because what the hell is happening. 

"Hey! Haven't seen you before!" the man says brightly. 

"Yeah, I haven't been here since I was sixteen, I've...umm...come home I guess." Harry replies. 

"Oh well nice to meet you! M' Louis, never been here before until a few days ago. Pretty nice innit?" His accent is overly thick, but it doesn't stop the kindness radiating from him.

"So, what brings you back ey?"

"My, umm, my mum." is all he can manage. He has just met this guy. He doesn't want to spill his life on him.

"Oh alright, well I would say welcome home but, well I don't know you enough. I'll let ya get off home, see you around...?"

"Harry."

"See ya 'round Harry." Louis claps him on his back and set off walking again. Leaving Harry alone to his thoughts, stood at the overly large picture wall.


End file.
